


Through the Broken Glass

by Boxerwing



Series: The Strength of a Triangle [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Good BDSM ettiquette, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boxerwing/pseuds/Boxerwing
Summary: Finally, the return of Amanda, James Bond and Q!  Now, enter a crossover universe where the Sherlock gang (especially Greg and Mycroft) can join the fun.  Warnings, ratings and tags will be updated as I go.





	1. Back to Martha’s

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since we left Amanda, James and Q starting some kind of life together. Now, the struggles with Amanda's health are slowly drifting into the past and the relationship between the three of them has found some sort of internal balance. Some new people are about to enter their lives and shake things up a bit. Couldn't let them get complacent, you know.
> 
> Please note: It would be a good idea to reread the first story in this series called "From the Outside In" if you haven't read it in a while. Some familiarity with the setting and plot of that story is necessary for this story to make sense. This is not a standalone story.

Walking on, walking on broken glass  
Walking on, walking on broken glass

You were the sweetest thing that I ever knew  
But I don't care for sugar, honey, if I can't have you  
Since you've abandoned me  
My whole life has crashed  
Won't you pick the pieces up  
'Cause it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass

Walking on, walking on broken glass

The sun's still shining in big blue sky  
But it don't mean nothing to me  
Oh, let the rain come down  
Let the wind blow through me  
I'm living in an empty room  
With all the windows smashed  
And I've got so little left to lose  
That it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass

And if you're trying to cut me down  
You know that I might bleed  
'Cause if you're trying to cut me down  
I know that you'll succeed  
And if you want to hurt me  
There's nothing left to fear  
'Cause if you want to hurt me  
You're doing really well, my dear

Now everyone of us was made to suffer  
Everyone of us was made to weep  
We've been hurting one another  
Now the pain has cut too deep  
So take me from the wreckage  
Save me from the blast  
Lift me up and take me back  
Don't let me keep on walking  
I can't keep on walking, keep on walking on broken glass

Walking on, walking on broken glass  
Walking on, walking on broken glass  
Walking on, walking on broken glass  
Walking on, walking on broken glass

Written by Annie Lennox

 

~~~~~

 

“They look good, don’t they Amanda?”

“Always, Shel. They always look the best, even doing a demonstration. But then I’m a bit partial.”

Shel hummed a quick agreement then headed back down the bar to help another patron. I turned and leaned my back against the edge of the bar, smiling as I watched my Doms do an advanced demonstration on suspended rope techniques. Jeffery and Jim, as they were known in the BDSM scene, were well known and respected, which was reflected in the large number of attendees at their demonstration at 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon here at Martha’s Club. I saw Jeffery catch my eye with a quick wink and I returned it with a wide smile of my own. Even though neither would allow themselves to be distracted while working dangerous restraints, I knew they both had a sense of where I was if I was around.

Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to watch them. I had seen their demonstrations a few times when they practiced, and I could get private viewings whenever I wanted. However Martha, the owner of this club, had called me earlier in the week asking for a favour. There was a new sub who shown up at a sponsored munch and because of his work schedule, wasn’t able to get there to know people on any sort of a regular basis. She was hoping that I could be a sort of informal mentor to him before he started playing. Today, I was going to meet him and see if we clicked enough to do just that.

I was just putting my empty highball glass back on the bar counter when Martha and a middle aged man approached me.

He was probably approaching James’ age, which meant he was only a few years older than me, and probably a dozen or so years older than Q. His hair was salt and pepper, heavy on the salt, short and thick and styled nicely. He had a warm face, eyes like dark chocolate and a charming smile. He was about as tall as Q and was wearing a simple black tee shirt covered by a black leather jacket, dark wash jeans and black combat-style boots. Handsome enough, for sure, but the charming smile made me a touch wary. In this lifestyle, charm would only get you so far.

“Good to see you, Amanda,” Martha said, a big smile on her face.

We gave each other a hug and I said as we broke apart, “Good to see you too. So who’s the handsome man with you?”

“I’d like you to meet Argent Vulpes. Argent, Amanda.”

Argent smiled at me and looked like he wasn’t sure what to do so I put my hand out, he let out a breath and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Amanda.”

I nodded my head at him. “You as well, Argent.”

“Call me Gent.”

“Gent, then.”

“Do you want me to sit with you guys while you chat?” Martha asked.

I looked Gent up and down, and no serious warning bells were going off. We were in probably the safest place in the world for he and I to meet and talk BDSM.

“I’m fine with talking to Amanda alone,” Gent offered, “but if she is more comfortable with you…”

“Nah, that’s okay,” I interrupted. “The DMs are around, and the two guys up on stage always keep half an eye on me.”Gent frowned. “DMs? The ‘guys on stage’"?

“Yeah. DMs are ‘Dungeon Masters’.” I pointed out a couple of large staff members wearing black t-shirts emblazoned with “DM” in huge white letters across their chests. “Dungeon Masters are sort of like BDSM security guards. They are the ones who make sure everyone is having a good time, make sure people are consenting and not doing illegal stuff like having sex in the main areas. They are the ones who keep an eye on people who are doing scenes to make sure things like safe words being called are noticed and will stop a scene if they feel the sub or bottom can’t consent to what is going on. I know they look like they are having a good old chat there in the corner, but they are keeping a very close eye on the demonstration on stage."

Gent shoved his hands in his pockets. “And the guys on stage?”

We both turned to look at Jeffery and James. I gave a little wave and Jeffery gave an imperceptible head nod back. “They are my Doms.”

Gent had a momentary look of shock that was soon replaced by a tentative smile. Martha patted our shoulders and let us head off to a quiet booth while she went off her own way. When a waitress came over and asked if we wanted drinks, he ordered a tonic water. It was good to see that he didn’t want to be drinking while we were chatting; I mentally gave him a check mark in my head.

“So, Mr. Silver Fox, which I do very much agree on the description by the way…”

“Caught that, huh?” he said sheepishly.

I shrugged, smiled and continued. “Most people in the scene go by some sort of nickname and I’ve seen a lot of variations over the years. A lot of people don’t want others to know they are in the scene; people like teachers, lawyers, cops and priests would lose face in their communities and potentially their livelihoods if they get caught. No, I don’t agree that some people are held to a different standard than others but that is the way the world is. I’m just glad you didn’t pick something like ‘Slave Big Dick’ or something.”

That got a small chuckle out of him. “Is Amanda a nickname?”

The waitress came back with Gent’s tonic water and my o.j. in a highball glass. “Nope. Amanda is my name, here and out in the real world. I never had a nickname when I started, and I have no reason to have one now.”

“What about your Doms?”

“The one being tied up is Jim and that is his nickname. The one doing the tying is Jeffery. That’s his real name.”

He peered around the walls of the booth up to the stage then his eyes settled on me again. He tilted his head very slightly for a moment, then broke eye contact and has a sip of his tonic. It was obvious that perhaps Gent was still a bit wary and uncomfortable.

“How did you get into the scene?” he finally asked.

I gave him a greatly abbreviated version of my BDSM history: getting introduced to it by an ex, meeting my first Dom/husband then getting divorced, playing the scene for a long while before forming a D/D/s relationship with Q and James. I omitted all of the painful nasty bits and just focused on the stuff I’d done over the years.

“It certainly sounds like you have a lot of experience. I mean…in a good way, of course!” Gent said.

I chuckled lightly. “In this case, experience is always a good thing, though you can always get more knowledge.” I took a sip of my o.j. then said, “So now you know a little about me. What about you? Martha only told me that you are really new and can’t get to the munches on a regular basis.”

He played with the rim of his glass for a bit, obviously in thought. “I’m not exactly young,” he started. “Somehow, I’m on the other side of 50 and there are still things I want to try, to do, to experience. This BDSM stuff has been hanging around the back of my brain for a while. I experimented a bit when I was a kid, but it was more ‘tie up your lover with silk scarves and put a blindfold on them’ sort of deal. It was fun; it was different and I got to feel like I was taking a walk on the wild side. Then I met my wife and she wasn’t into any of that sort of thing. I think the craziest stuff she and I did was we had a quickie down an alley, way long before CCTV were around. Just the once, though. Even that was just too risky for her. Through my job, though, I’ve seen lots of things. LOTS of things.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Copper. I’m a detective, but more in management now than on the street.”

_Interesting,_ I thought. _Not exactly that uncommon to find someone in authority who is also a sub_. I nodded and encouraged him to carry on.

“I realized,” he continued, “that maybe I wanted to look a little more into the BDSM scene. There were some things that caught my eye over the years that was way beyond silk scarves and blindfolds. I tried to tuck all that away in the back of my head for the longest time. Did pretty well actually. Then I got divorced, and it seemed like suddenly my…um…personal fantasies were shifting away from normal stuff to quite a bit less than normal stuff. What does a lonely, single guy do then? Google.” He gave a small chuckle. “Did some basic searches. Ended up first finding a few local boards that were…iffy at best.”

I nodded. I knew which websites he was talking about.

“Somehow, I ended up on this Canadian website called Fetlife.”

“I know it well,” I answered. “I don’t use it much anymore; the website design is not so easy on my maturing eyeballs with its red on black lettering and it’s hard as hell to find anything.”

He looked at me and chuckled back. “Yeah, I get that. But remember, lonely and single. Had all the time in the world on my days off. The more I looked around Fet, the more I realized how much I didn’t know. Some things I knew would never appeal to me…”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I can’t remember the letters, but something like age play? Where one person is an adult and one acts like a kid?”

“Ah. Yeah, it can be called ‘age play’. It can also be divided into subgroups like Daddy Doms and little girls, adult babies diaper lovers, etc. It sort of covers a really wide range of D/s play and lifestyles.”

“What was the second thing you said? Adult diapers something?

“Adult babies diaper lovers. Usually shortened to ABDL.”

“That’s it! No way. No way am I ever getting into diapers and acting like a baby for someone.”

“There’s the one thing I want to stress. No matter what you do, you never have to do anything you don’t want to, especially if it hasn’t been discussed before you do it. As to the diaper thing; I hear what you are saying. I’m not in to that myself. But since you are just starting out, try and have an open mind. You never know what might appeal to you in the future.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll try, but diapers, I just don’t know about…”

“It’s fine for now. At least you’ve done some reading and researching. What about stuff you do like?”

He sat, playing again with the lip of his glass, thinking.

“Look,” I started, “You don’t know me from Adam. You know nothing about me except for what I’ve told you. If this is too much for you today, I can leave you my mobile number and we can talk over text if that would be easier.”

He lifted his head and looked at me. “I don’t know. I want to. I’m ready to. It’s…not an easy thing.”

I sat back against the booth and thought a moment. “Can I ask you about that?” I thought maybe if I came at him from a different angle, things might be a bit easier for him.

“Sure, if you want.”

“You say you are ready. Time is ticking down and you notice that. You’ve started along the path, reading, doing research, even going to a munch and asking for help from Martha. You’ve tried your best to be prepared, I can see that.”

He nodded.

“So, right now you are at the point where you are going to start talking about all this intimate private stuff to someone you met within the last hour. Even though you know a little about me and that I have experience, you don’t know what I think. About you. How I will react to fantasies that only exist in your mind but that you want to experience for real. Will I judge? Laugh? Say you are wasting your time? Say you are not submissive, not kinky, and that you should go home and find another nice vanilla woman to marry?”

He sat up straight and looked at me with a strange intensity. “How did you know?” he finally mumbled.

“Because there’s probably not a kinkster in the world who hasn’t worried about getting those responses. I’ve also had ‘there’s no Dom who would ever want me’ and the ‘why can’t I just be normal’ thoughts too.” I thought a moment, then said, “You know, if you don’t feel comfortable with me, I’m sure we can find you someone else to be your mentor. Jim is a switch, and I would offer his services, but he tends to have a very erratic schedule and is out of country a lot.”

“Oh? What does Jim do?” Gent asked then took a sip of tonic.

“He works for the government.”

I startled when Gent banged his glass down on the table. “Oh, really? And you, what do you do, Amanda,” he said coldly.

His change in attitude shocked me. “I work for the government too. Jim, Jeffery and I all work in the same branch of offices.”

“Doing…?”

“Unfortunately, what I do for a living is classified.”

“And your Doms?”

“The same. Classified.”

“So you all are just happen to be government officials, right?”

“In a manner of speaking…”

“Who? Who set this up? Was it Anthea? Mycroft? Dammit all!” He rubbed his hands through his hair then over his face. “He never could butt out. Thank God I didn’t tell you more…”

“Look Gent…”

“You bloody well already know that’s not my name!”

“Umm…no. I don’t have any clue what your real name is. Or who the other people you mentioned are. Really.”

“Well, Amanda,” he sneered, tossing a few bills on the table and getting out of the booth, “you really need to work on your technique more. Never tell your marks what you really do for a living; it might just give you away.” And with that, he stormed out of Martha’s.

Stunned, all I could do was blink as he left. I had no idea what that was all about, but it looked like I had a close call with a government conspiracy nutter. Thank God I dodged that bullet.

As I was finishing my juice, Jeffery came to the booth, gave me a quick kiss and slid in next to me. Nodding at the glass and money on the table, he said, “Not go so well with the sub Martha asked you to mentor?”

I just shrugged. “Honestly, it seemed like things were going fine. He seemed pretty nervous and I was trying to get him to chat. He went sort of weird when I said you, James and I worked for the government. Said that I needed to not tell ‘my marks’ what I actually do for a living or something. Sounded like one of those crazy conspiracy guys.”

“Well, then, you’re better off finding out now before ending up with a stalker or something.” He picked up my hand, kissed it and gave me a big smile. “I’m glad you are safe and that he didn’t get violent or anything.”

“I doubt he would have tried anything; I had already pointed out to him the DMs and you and James. I felt pretty safe. Besides, up to the point when he went off the rails he was a perfect gentlemen.”

“Well, love, I know of two other perfect gentlemen who aren’t crackers that want to go out for a bite with you.”

I petted his thigh. “Do I know these fine upstanding individuals?”

“Yep. And the older of the two is paying.”

“And let me guess: the younger of the two wants something from a fish and chip van?”

“Got it in one. You up for that?”

“With two gorgeous and sane men? Of course!”


	2. Procedure Meetings are the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've seen Greg meet Amanda. Now, who else will jump into the mix?

A few weeks after the meeting with Gent, I was at work when I got a notification through the MI6 internal email service of a confidential meeting set up for a week’s time. I rarely was invited to any sort of meeting as I just was that low on the totem pole at MI6. I clicked on the notification and it read:

———  
From: Ministry of Transportation, Main Office, London  
To: MI6 Quartermaster; Bond, James; Simmons, Amanda; [Confidential18A41]  
Cc: [Confidential712]

Subject: Please Confirm Meeting Attendance; Mandatory

Dear Attendees:

Please note the addition to your calendar of a mandatory meeting, Type Confidential 6S, in one week’s time.

Date: Thursday, September 20  
Time: 13:00  
Place: Meeting Room 71, 7th floor, New Scotland Yard, London  
Topic: Confidential — type 6S

Please click the following button to confirm your mandatory attendance: [Mtg200918SNSY71]

Ensure you have valid government identification as well as your staff ID card present for this meeting. No phones, tablets, or other recording devices will be permitted during this meeting. Notepads and pens will be provided.

N.B. Simmons, Amanda has a temporary increase to Security Level V for this meeting only. All other attendees’ security levels are unchanged.

Thank you in advance for your prompt confirmation reply.

Sincerely,

Minister of Transportation

AG/[Confidential712]  
————

A more bizarre internal email I don’t think I’d ever received. I had to read it over a few times to even make sense of the thing and I even had to look at the MI6 Policy and Procedure Manual to even figure out the confidential and security levels. Before confirming, I group-texted Q and James.

(11:23) Can anyone explain this weird meeting we have to confirm our attendance at next week? Since both of you have to be there, I figured I might get an idea of what is going on. ~A

(11:24) First I’ve heard of it. Let me call around and see why we all three of us are going to be in a meeting with people from the MOT. Q

I let Q handle it, and I got back to my job and it wasn’t until 15 minutes before the end of my shift that I finally got a reply from Q.

(16:44) Talked to M. He said the meeting was only a “procedure clarification” meeting. Don’t know what that means, tho. We still all have to go, but he said it was “nothing to worry about”. Q

I read it over and shrugged. Q didn’t seem worried, so I’d just follow his lead. I went into my emails, clicked the confirmation button for this mysterious procedure meeting, and thought no more about it.

~~~~~

The day of the meeting, we all drove over to the NSY in Q’s Ford Focus. It was easier to manoeuvre through the busy London streets and quite a bit better on fuel than James’ Jag. Thankfully, between James pulling Q out of Q-branch by the ear (“But James…!” “R is more than capable of taking care of Q-branch for a few hours.”) and Q surprisingly or unsurprisingly getting every green light between MI6 and NSY, we actually arrived on time to our meeting. Even a little early if you squinted.

The meeting room was a small one: an oval table that could probably seat ten, and the room with glass walls on the two long sides and solid walls on the opposites was just large enough for it but not much else.

There were three people already in the room. The first was a most imposing auburn haired man in a mossy green three piece suit standing at head of the table at the far end. Although his suit was tailored and modern, he had a curiously anachronistic feel about him, as though he would be equally at home in the Victorian era. Not only did he look like he had a stick up his arse, but he was also looking down his nose at James, Q and I; all things which did not endear him to me. The next person was a young woman in a plain blouse and skirt. She sat to the auburn haired man’s left, in the corner not at the table, totally engrossed in typing away on her phone. The third person, seated to the auburn haired man’s right, was the man I knew as Argent Vulpes. He was definitely a surprise, and he most certainly looked unhappy to be there.

“Now that everyone has finally arrived, please find a seat and we can begin,” the man in three piece suit said.

I gritted my teeth at his snobby posh accent and his vague insinuation that we were late, and took a seat between Q and James. The young woman gathered up all our tablets and mobiles into a metal case, locked it, and returned to her texting on her phone in the corner.

The man in the three piece suit began. “My name is Mycroft Holmes…”

“And you are not the Minister of Transportation,” Q finished for him.

Mycroft Holmes nodded his head at Q. “Indeed, I am not. Some may know me as a minor government official, but my position is one of the highest levels of government.”

I noticed that this Holmes person hadn’t actually said what his position was. Probably above my security clearance to know.

“May I remind everyone here that nothing is to leave this room that is discussed. Ms Simmons,” he looked at me pointedly, “do you understand? Your increase in security clearance is for the duration of this confidential meeting only.”

I took a deep breath in my nose and let it out without a noise. I’ve never had such an immediate intense dislike of any person before I’d met this Mycroft Holmes person. He was obviously my superior so it would not bode well for me if I were to reply to him that I was not an idiot and could understand basic and advanced English. James carefully shifted so one of his legs touched mine; both a warning and a comfort.

I mustered up the most congenial smile I could manage and said, “Of course. I followed up with the MI6 Policy and Procedure Manual for clarity.”

A dismissive nod, then he continued. “Detective Chief Inspector, would you mind introducing yourself please?”

The man I knew as Gent took a sip from a glass of water in front of him. “I’m DCI Gregory Lestrade from the MET police. Not much else to say.”

“We’ve met,” I replied. DCI Lestrade caught my eye and gave me the smallest of smiles even though he looked grey and nauseated. I nodded back but did not return his smile.

“Will the rest of you please introduce yourselves?”

“I’m Q, Quartermaster of MI6 and head of Q-Division.”

“Q?” DCI Lestrade asked.

“Yes, Q. That is my official title. Please use it.” I could tell by Q’s tight voice that so far he was unimpressed with this meeting and the other attendees.

DCI Lestrade nodded.

“I am Amanda Simmons, Senior Creative Technology Artist for MI6.” I looked to Holmes who was inspecting me like a bug under a microscope. He said not a word then looked to James.

“Commander James Bond, Intelligence Officer 007, at your service, gentlemen and ma’am.”

Lestrade and Holmes nodded in acknowledgement. The assistant did not even look up from her phone.

“Now that we all know each other, can we please get on with whatever procedures need clarifying so I can get back to work? I have agents in the field that need my attention and my colleagues both have their own jobs to do,” Q stated simply.

Holmes and Q had a bit of staring contest then. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at the battle of testosterone that was going on, but outwardly I calmed myself to look mildly pleasant.

Whatever battle between them finished when Holmes turned to me and said, “I have heard from DCI Lestrade that you and he met in a local establishment.”

 _Oh boy, here we go,_ I thought. _Let’s bash the kinky folk._ I nodded and shrugged my shoulders. “Yes, we did. It was a meeting set up by a mutual acquaintance that thought we would have some common interests.” I had no idea how much Lestrade had told Holmes, but I figured being vague would be more beneficial on both our parts. I glanced at Lestrade who was simply looking at his clasped hands on the table.

“And at this meeting,” Holmes continued, “you told him you worked for the government in a classified fashion.”

That was not the next question I expected. “DCI Lestrade is not a person I know, so I followed procedure of not divulging classified information, which my job is, to someone without clearance.”

“And you told him that your, umm, intimate partners…”

“They are my Dominants, sir. If you would like me to explain that…”

He held up a hand to quiet me. “No, you do not. You told DCI Lestrade that Q and Commander Bond are your intimate partners and that you work in the same branch of offices. And that their jobs are also classified.”

“I can’t remember what I exactly said, but that sounds like something I would say.”

“Do you realize, Ms Simmons, that even divulging that Q and Commander Bond work for the government in a classified way may have put them and yourself at risk?” Holmes put his hands on the table and pinned me still with his gaze. “Who else have you told about Q and Commander Bond’s job positions?”

I was stunned silent with shock. There was no way I would ever want to put Q and James’ lives at risk. I couldn’t believe what I thought was a boring procedure meeting would end up like this.

“But we were all in a public place,” I stammered, if that answer would somehow explain everything.

“Who else? Friends? Family? Other acquaintances at the establishment you met DCI Lestrade at?”

I shook my head no, but he didn’t stop.

“Who else, Ms Simmons?” He stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest. “You are aware that breaking your security clearance can involve in demotion, job loss, deportation or even prison.”

I looked back and forth from Q to James, shaking my head in an effort to somehow explain to them I never meant them harm.

Q and James both took a hand of mine and gripped them hard.

Then Q let my hand go and stood up, gave James a glance and a nod and said, “Mr Holmes, I am more than aware of your position within the government.”

“Oh?” Holmes said, a raised eyebrow saying that he had no doubt Q knew nothing.

Q matched Holmes body position and crossed his own arms in front of him. “Indeed. Code name Brodie Helmet.”

Holmes narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Q continued. “How dare you come here, wielding your power like a mace, and insinuate that one of MI6’s most valued and exemplary employees would risk the welfare of her colleagues?”

“How dare you and Bond take a … partner,” Holmes sneered, “and risk exposing classified information to an underling without the appropriate clearance! It’s bad enough that you and Bond are skirting so close to the acceptable by living together, never mind you are including her in your household.” The look he gave me was one of undisguised disgust.

I gripped James’ hand so tight I thought I would snap his fingers, but he never even flinched. Things were spiralling out of control, like a car skating on a sheet of ice.

“Is this a procedure issue or is this more of a personal issue, Holmes?” Q said, his tone biting.

Holmes only blinked a few times in response.

“Homophobic? Biased against those with non-traditional relationships who are adult and consenting? Well? Because all of this is crap and you know it.”

A small smirk crossed Holmes’ lips. “Considering I am gay with no internalized homophobia, I have no issues with anyone having a same sex relationship. Nor do I care what any adult does in their spare time as long as it is legal, consensual and will not put Britain, her Queen or her government in jeopardy. However…this…” he waved a hand at us, “is most unacceptable. I…”

Holmes never got to finish whatever he was going to say because James said low, “Do you know who this woman is?

“Of course. Amanda…”

James cut him off again. “Are you aware of Project Obsidian Pheasant?”

Holmes glared but nodded.

“Misty Plume. Now known as Amanda Simmons. Previously, Amanda Barrett.”

I leaned over to Q, and before I said anything all he said was, “Yes. Stephen.”

Holmes’ forehead furrowed. “Anthea…”

“Working on it, sir.” His PA was now typing furiously, a similar furrow gracing her forehead. Almost instantly, she handed her phone to Holmes.

“Q, if we could meet outside a moment…” Holmes led the way out, scanning the phone intently with Q right behind him.

James leaned over and whispered to me, “How are you doing?”

“A little freaked out, if I’m honest,” I whispered back. “Not the procedure meeting I was expecting.”

As he was patting my thigh in comfort under the table, we heard a few throat-clearing noises from across the table.

“I need to apologize.” DCI Lestrade ran his hands over his face a few times then through his hair. “I never expected…” he waved his hands helplessly, “…this.”

“And what the hell is this, detective?” I asked. “I’m being threatened with getting fired or deported!”

“This is a misunderstanding,” he replied.

“You’re bloody well right, this is,” James growled. “How does a lowly DCI get the ear of someone as high up in the government as this Mycroft Holmes seems to be? Are you a plant? Looking for moles? Because you’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do for trying to sink Amanda.”

“I’m not a plant looking for moles. I’m honestly curious about the scene and what I told you at the club was the truth. Amanda, when you said you were working for the government, it took me by surprise and I may have overreacted.”

“I’ll say you did. I thought maybe you’d forgotten your tinfoil hat at home when you were going on about me having a govvie job,” I replied grimly.

“You see, Mycroft Holmes and I have worked together in different capacities for a number of years.”

“Your elevated security clearance no DCI would ever have?” James asked.

Lestrade nodded. “I’ve been seconded to MI5 on and off for a while. My security clearance comes from that, not my job with the MET.” He paused a moment, then continued. “Mycroft Holmes takes his job and government security very seriously. When you mentioned that you had a classified job with the government, I assumed you were being sent by him. To check up on me if you will.”

“If you’ve worked with him for all these years, why would you think he would do that?” I asked.

“It’s more that he likes to make sure his family and closest associates are safe.”

I rubbed my hands over my eyes. “So you put two and two together and made…”

“Melon. Yeah, not a fantastic example of my detective skills, I grant you. So I was worked up about being surveilled and went to talk to Mycroft.”

“Who then, wanting to ensure you and England were safe, set this little meeting up.” James sighed. “Brilliant work, detective. Truly a fine example of our police force.”

“Amanda, I really am truly sorry about this,” Lestrade said. “If there is anything I can do to fix this or erase all of this and start over, I’ll do it. Gladly.”

I studied his face and took a risk. “We’ll see if I still have a job by the end of this meeting and go from there, ok?” I replied.

“Are you sure?” James asked me. “For not only a detective but for someone who works for MI5 to jump to conclusions like that…he doesn’t inspire much confidence in me. Who’s to say how he is going to react to something you suggest to him? Not listen to you in a risky moment?”

“I didn’t become a DCI by not learning from my mistakes, Commander. Granted, this was an exceptionally spectacular mistake, but I own it and will take the steps necessary to fix it.”

I turned and looked through the glass wall to see Q and Holmes arguing. If I lost everything, it certainly wouldn’t be because of Q or James; I knew they were doing their best. I picked up a pen and doodled on the paper pad in front of me. I did my best to just put all of this aside, try and be as positive as could and expect to keep my job, and started sketching a few new designs for hiding miniature explosives in a tie, pants or a bra. Pockets with flaps wouldn’t work; too bulky, too noticeable and too hard to access. Velcro? Rubber cement? Maybe a thread made of the explosive woven into the fabric or elastic? I’d have to talk to R&D or Q to see if that was possible. I tapped my pen against my lips, deep in thought.

“So, ahem. Amanda? Sorry to bother you, but, what is your job? Since asking you that is what got us here, I’m curious to know,” Lestrade asked quietly.

I looked up to him, my pen still at my lips. I scribbled myself a note on the page, then put my pen down. “As I said before, I’m the Senior Creative Technology Artist for MI6. I know that is sort of vague, so…” I lifted up my pad of paper and showed him some of my sketches. “I work at getting R&D technology into the field in a way that is undetectable.”

James pulled out his phone and slid it over the table to the detective. I was actually quite proud of that phone case; it looked like an elegant brown leather mobile case with slots for a few pin and chip cards. Slim, trim, unobtrusive. No one would ever guess how many tools were in it for James.

“That is some of Amanda’s brilliance,” James said.

“It’s a lovely but…”

“Look. Poke around. See if you can find what you are missing, detective.”

He did all the normal things people do when James shows them that case: opened it, closed it, looked at the back, the front. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on then opened the case again. He was poking his finger around the lip of the leather that held the phone in place.

“You’re rather cold, detective,” James said.

While the detective was playing James’ game, I looked again out the glass wall. It seemed like Q and Holmes were now talking quietly with their heads together and whether that was a good or bad thing, I had no idea. I went back to sketching and doodling, listening with half an ear to James and the detective. After Lestrade had found five of the integrated items: removable tracker, video recorder, poisoned flechette, enough explosives to blow out a door and a garrotte wire, I piped in, “Only one left, detective.”

I put my pen down and spent some time just watching him work slowly and methodically through the phone and case, sometimes peering over his glasses and bringing the case right up to his face to examine something closely. I tried to hide back a smile as I noticed the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. “Aha!” he said, pulling the small packet out. “Found the last…thing. Have no idea what it is, though. Is it a…fishing hook? Why would you need something like that?”

I laughed. “Not a fishing hook. It’s a suture with a curved needle. This one here,” I bobbed my thumb at James, “always injures himself on missions. Even if the mission is going to the store for milk and biscuits.”

“Well, I’m impressed,” James admitted. “It took you much less time to find everything than I expected.”

“James, he did it faster than you did. How long exactly did it take for you to find everything your first time?”

Before he had a chance to answer, the door opened and in returned Q and Homes and Lestrade slid James’ phone back over the table to him. Q returned to his seat next to me, grabbed my hand in his and smiled. That smile gave me hope.

“It seems, Ms Simmons, that I did not have the complete picture of the situation between you, Q and Commander Bond. I understand that you are under their protection for the immediate future. I also wanted to extend my thanks for your sacrifice to keep them safe. It is…exceptional what you did.”

I looked down at my hands in my lap. I still hated that people thought I was some kind of hero.

“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled.

“That is all well and good Holmes but what about her job?” James asked. “What she did for us during Obsidian Pheasant is separate from whatever you think she did at the club.”

I winced. James had put a very fine point on my unspoken worries.

“I may have been over zealous in my search for wrong due to my own misinterpretation of the facts.” He took a deep breath in and let it out. “Ms Simmons, you followed MI6 procedures to the letter. You placed no one at risk with your words and there was no reason for me to insinuate that you did. I apologize, Ms Simmons, for threatening you with disciplinary action without cause.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“What now? What if become friends with DCI Lestrade? Am I going to have to worry about people watching us if we meet up? Have you bring me in for another procedural meeting?”

I heard Q intake a breath, and I put my hand on his leg in reassurance.

“No, of course not,” Holmes said softly. “Whatever you or DCI Lestrade do during off hours is none of my business.”

A soft ping from the corner and Anthea said, “Sir, it’s the Foreign Affairs Minister from Angola and you wanted me to put you through…”

“Yes, thank you, Anthea.” Anthea returned to us our electronic devices as Holmes continued. “Unfortunately, I must leave and take this call so I have to conclude this meeting. Again, Ms Simmons, my sincerest apologies.”

As he and Anthea were leaving, he stopped behind my chair. “Ms Simmons, here is my card. If you are having any problems related to Project Obsidian Pheasant, your position, or your relationship with Q, Commander Bond or DCI Lestrade, don’t hesitate to contact me. Good day, gentlemen, Ms Simmons,” and after a nod of his head, he and Anthea swept from the meeting room.

I looked at the card. There was no name or position on it, nothing to say it was from a government official at all. Just a phone number and an email address that was a string of letters and numbers. That was it.

“Q? What was the code name you called Mr Holmes?”

“What? Brodie Helmet, is that what you are asking?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I inputted the information into my secured contacts list under the name “Brodie”, then slipped the card between my phone and the case. I’d take it back to the office and shred it.

“Amanda?” Lestrade said quietly. “Can we…”

“You bastard,” Q yelled at Lestrade, slamming his hands on the table. “Who in God’s name do you think you are? And what in the hell did you think this would accomplish?”

“I made a huge mistake, Q. I never anticipated anything like this happening. I misinterpreted Amanda’s comments about yours and her jobs. I talked to Mycroft who then overreacted and here we are. I promise you, all of you, I never meant for this to happen. I’m sorry and I would do anything to start over again, Amanda.”

“You can’t possibly be still considering to mentor him, are you Amanda?” Q asked.

“He already explained and apologized when you were out with Mr Holmes. This wasn’t a lark or a practical joke. DCI Lestrade…”

“Please, just Greg.”

I nodded at Greg. “Greg has history with Mr Homes and it coloured his reactions to me. As much as I hate to admit it while my heart rate is still in the stratosphere, he did what he thought was best for himself under the circumstances. And I believe his apologies.”

“James?” Q asked.

“I agree with Amanda, though if I can suggest we all start over. Why don’t you come over for dinner one evening…”

“So you can all interrogate me and make sure I pass muster?” Greg addressed us all, but looked at me.

James’ return smile was a bit predatory. “Something like that.”

“Do you want to just give me a call and set something up? I’m available most evenings and weekends, as long as we don’t get too many murders called in.” He patted his jacket, but couldn’t find what he was looking for. “If you don’t mind coming back with my to my office, I’ll get you all my card.”

We followed Greg back to his office, meandering around the cube farm filled with officers in suits and uniforms of all types.

His office was small and had a horrible view of the surrounding buildings, but it was surprisingly welcoming. His desk was piled with paper files, and a few boxes set next to his bookcase, but he had a small settee covered in toss pillows against one wall, and a couple of guest chairs that actually looked comfortable. A few indoor plants topped his filing cabinets and they looked lush and healthy.

“Just have a seat while I take a look,” Greg offered.

“We really need to get back to MI6,” Q started when a short blond popped his head in the office.

“Hey Greg, I have those files you wanted, but I can come back later if…” the man said.

“Captain Watson? John?” James asked.

“Yes? Who are…bloody hell, Commander Bond as I live and breathe! What are you doing here? I thought MI6 had you globetrotting so much you never came home!” the blond replied.

They clasped hands and patted backs, and Q whispered in my ear, “Bloody hell. War comrade. Next will come the ‘have you heard that so-and-so made it out?’ stories to war wound stories to what they’re doing today stories. We won’t be out of here anytime soon, and I refuse to abandon you here and drive back myself.”

“I’m more than able to get back to work if I grab a cab,” I replied. I grabbed my phone and did a quick search. “I could even grab a bus if I had to. There’s a bus that leaves from Parliament Square every 6 minutes. Easy, Q.”

“No bloody way you are taking a *bus* on work time. Just, no, Amanda.”

I rolled my eyes. I was about to offer another suggestion when James brought his friend over to us.

“Captain John Watson, I’d like to introduce you to Q, MI6 Quartermaster and my partner.”

Captain Watson shook Q’s hand vigorously and raised an eyebrow to James. “Partner? You’ve finally found someone to settle down with and will put up with you?”

“We have a home and a garden and everything, John,” James laughed.

“Well, I wish you two many happy years together.”

“And this is Amanda Simmons who works at with Q and I at MI6. She is also a very close friend of ours.”

“Lovely to meet you, ma’am.” His hand shake was firm and respectful, but not too hard or overbearing.

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain.” He had warm blue eyes in a face that was haggard around the edges.

“Please, John.”

“Then just call me Amanda.”

“John patched me up in Afghanistan. Barely even left a scar, even though he was stitching me up as we bounced down a goat path in a Logistic Support Vehicle missing a few bits.”

“Well, you had been extremely clever to get wounded in a spot where a scar wouldn’t be noticeable.”

Q looked at James, then back to John. “And which one would that be?” He tilted his head, smiled, and blinked a few times. “I thought I knew every story behind each of your scars. Perhaps you forgot?”

The tips of James’ ears turned red and he coughed. “Well, you see…”

“Left buttock," John interrupted, a small grin breaking on his face. “He’s actually quite lucky, you know. A slightly different angle and it could have hit his sciatic nerve. Just skimmed his glute on that side.”

“Well, Doctor,” Q started, “please, do tell me a little bit more about this? Maybe if we turn James around, you can point out the location?”

James eyes widened and he started to shake his head no when John said, “But of course. No pun intended. Well, you see…” and as John explained, Q turned James around, got him to lean over and put his hands on the back of a chair so his arse was easily accessible.

As I watched James in the hell of his own making (he only had himself to blame for not telling Q, who needed to know everything medical about him) I heard Greg approach my side. He handed me his card and said, “Again, I am so sorry…”

I slid his card into my purse and held up a hand. “You apologized already. I heard you, believe you and am willing to try again. So, hello, DCI Greg Lestrade. I’m Amanda Simmons, Senior etc, etc,” I then held out my hand and he shook it warmly, a crooked smile lighting his face.

“Thanks.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Thought I’d totally fucked things up. Again.”

I raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t reply.

“Hey, are you ready to get back to MI6?” James asked, his hand touching my elbow. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine James. I got Greg’s card and…” I looked to Greg, “I’ll email? Or text? A time for you to come to James’ and Q’s place for us to have dinner?”

“Text is fine.” That grin lit up his face again as nodded to me. He turned serious as he looked over to James. “Again, my apologies, but thank you for letting me try again with Amanda.”

“Don’t thank me, thank her. She’s the one who decided, not me or Q. Dinner soon?” James repeated his feral smile from earlier.

“Absolutely. Drive safe back to MI6 and I’ll see you all soon.”

As James guided me to the door and to say goodbye to John, Q slipped over to Greg and said something quietly. Greg fidgeted, shooting his cuffs and straightening his coat front and when Q stopped, Greg nodded just once. Q repeated the nod and returned to us. Quick goodbyes were given by all and then we were out of Greg’s office to head back to MI6.

I caught Q’s elbow and said in his ear, “What did you say at the end there to Greg?”

“Just told him he’s not the only one with friends, and that if something like this happens again, Mr Mycroft Holmes won’t have contacts high enough in all of England to help Greg.”

“You did not!”

Q relaxed for the first time since the meeting, smiled and winked at me. “Sometimes, love, it’s nice to be able to use the power I have for good, for the people I truly care about. Shit… James sees someone else he knows. Let’s go get him and get out of here.”

I shook my head at Q’s back but followed him to corral our lover and return to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, I'll get another chapter out sooner rather than later. Don't hesitate to comment and to tell me of any mistakes!

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting this story chapter by chapter as I write it. The first two chapters are complete, so there is at least a bit here to wet your tastebuds! I will do my best to post somewhat regularly, although I cannot guarantee any type of schedule. While I am writing and posting this story, I will be posting some of my other fanfics and original fiction. I am also a one-man-show around here, so if you find any errors, I'd be happy if you told me in the comments.


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